


This Isn't a Love Story

by nahco3



Series: Three Words [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-29
Updated: 2011-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-23 05:38:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nahco3/pseuds/nahco3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silva wants Villa; Villa wants to be better than Raul and it's all a little messed up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Isn't a Love Story

**Author's Note:**

> this was written in 2008, so it's kind of old.

There are questions without answers and questions that don't deserve them and when Silva asks either, David Villa raises his eyebrow and nails him in place with his black-brown eyes and Silva shrinks back until David ruffles his hair and laughs.

It's complicated, so much more so than Valencia, maybe because the air in the Alps is clearer and the heat doesn't pierce like the Spanish sun but rather worms its way patiently inward until Silva feels so torn between crying and laughing he can do nothing at all but play football. Which, he admits, might be the whole point.

Sex with David hurts and leaves Silva with bite marks and bruises, leaves him sore. It’s a trade Silva’s become used to making, waiting until the ache in his chest becomes too much before he bows to the inevitable.

His favorite part is afterward, when David presses their cheeks together, lets Silva sketch patterns onto his skin; when David sometimes laughs his quiet laugh, the one that makes his eyes sparkle.

That afternoon, after the Sweden game, they go to their room without making eye contact. David’s cell rings and he answers, chats away with Morientes. Silva waits, flipping channels on the TV. He knows what’s coming next. He wants to think that David fucks him because he wants to, and maybe he does, but David never does anything for just one reason. He is as opaque as Silva is transparent, but Silva hopes anyway, hopes to be something more than the next best thing.

David hangs up and throws his phone down onto his bed, before sitting down next to Silva. He rests his hand on Silva’s back, and Silva shifts toward the pressure without trying to stop himself.

“Could Raul have scored that goal, you think?” David asks, quietly, eyes fixed on the TV.

Silva bites his lip. “I don’t know,” he replies honestly. “But you were the only one of us who could have.”

David looks down at Silva and laughs. “Well, obviously. I just wish…” he trails off and his hand on Silva’s back strokes down and then slides across bare skin. His wedding ring is shockingly cold against Silva’s back, and Silva gasps without meaning to.

“You wish what?” he asks, hardly trusting his voice, wishing he could fight and not wanting to.

David smiles again, predatory. “Nothing.” He removes his hand and stands up. Silva sits up.

“Where are you going?” he asks, his voice shaking.

David laughs. “I don’t know. Why?” He walks towards the door. “I might call Mori back.”

“David, please.”

David turns back around, and Silva knows this is what David has been waiting for. Then David’s arms are around him and David is kissing him and barely letting him breathe, biting his neck, tugging his clothes off. His hands are rough and it hurts (just like always, too fast, too hard) and still Silva begs for more, more, more, please David, and finally David lets him fall.

Later, David kisses the back of Silva’s neck in the shower, softly, almost tenderly, and Silva turns and kisses him on the mouth, the water pounding on his back. David’s hands get tangled in his wet hair, not pulling for once, just resting there.


End file.
